CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

 

Jack and Ray stood on the open plan main floor beside the sliding door that led onto a private patio surrounded by a high, vine-covered wall. As with the interior furnishings that focused on a single occupant, seating outside was also for one person. Several tall, potted leafy trees added privacy from neighboring windows. It appeared nothing about this residence welcomed visitors. Probably intentional, as Ginnie had been keeping the place as her secret hideaway.

"How do you want to play this, Ray?" Jack asked. "Put out a BOLO and an ATL?"

"What do you think, Jack?" Ray asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. His scowl darkened.

"What I know is we can't waste time rushing all over the city trying to find her. She's on foot and there are a million places she can hunker down."

"Right," Ray agreed, tossing his hands onto his hips. "Based on what you told me about your conversation with Franklin, I'm guessing she won't go there either."

"He's probably changed the locks already."

Ray chuckled. "I'll get a warrant to monitor her phone activity."

"Good idea. She can't stay on the street all night, so she'll definitely be back for her car."

"What about getting it over to forensics? We're not just talking about fingerprints on the window. If she's really the one who's been killing these people, there's going to be a shitload of evidence inside the car," Ray pointed out.

Jack shook his head. "Agreed, but for now, let's just take the prints off the window. She's going to need a vehicle. If we leave it here, we can grab her inside the Beamer and kill two birds with one stone. If she knows we've been in the car, she may not take it. Same goes for the house. If she heard the call on the radio, she only knows we were coming to question an Eleanor Mae Hogg. There's a chance she may not be aware that we know who she really is. And unless she has spares," Jack added, "she'll want this new weapon too."

He never would have guessed the beautiful former supermodel would have been capable of anything like this, but now knowing she was crack shot Ellie Mae from Tennessee, it made sense that she'd know how to handle weapons. Even ones made from plastic.

"You're right," Ray said. "Her only choice is coming back here when she thinks it's safe. Even if it's just for her car. We'll put an unmarked vehicle on Greenwich Street and post a couple plain clothes officers on Lombard in case she comes back through that alleyway."

Jack's gaze tracked a pair of officers as they moved through the upper floor. "I know just who we should put out on Lombard." He shifted the dog into his other arm and crooked his finger at the officers.

"Inspector," the male officer said to Ray as the pair approached, neither looking at Jack.

The male officer's name tag said W. James. The female's said G. Massie.

Were they embarrassed by their treatment of Jack the night of Bob Johnson's murder, or discounting his presence at this scene because he was no longer on the force?

"You know Jack Slaughter," Ray said. "He's consulting on this case. I want you to afford him the same respect you have for any of your senior officers." The pair glanced at Jack then back at Ray. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Massie said.

"Is that all, sir?" James asked.

"No." Not by far. Jack felt a little comeuppance creep through him. "We want you both in plain clothes and over on Lombard to stake out the street entrance to the side alley." He thumbed in the direction of the alley beside the house. "If our suspect returns for her car, or anything else," Jack said, shifting the dog to his other arm again, "we need to know."

Massie bobbed her head that she understood. "Yes, sir."

"Sir," James said to Ray. "I—"

"Yes?" Ray lifted an eyebrow at James' tone. "Do you have somewhere else to be, officer?"

"Yes . . . I mean, no. I mean—"

"When you graduated from the academy, did you swear to protect this city?" Ray asked.

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"Did you swear to protect it only when it's convenient for you?"

"N-no, sir."

"This woman has killed eight people. And by the looks of things, she's preparing for number nine." Ray crossed his arms over his chest. Jack knew his friend struggled to keep his cool. He'd seen this posture before many times. "If you want to stay on this team, you'll get into your civvies and get your ass out there."

"Let's go, newbie," Massie ordered.

"But—" James started.

"But what?" Ray leaned closer to James and stared him in the eye. Jack recognized this tactic of intimidation. James didn’t budge though, making Jack wonder if the man had a set of balls on him.

"Sir, I don't agree with having to take orders from a civilian," James finally said, barely glancing Jack's way.

"Officer," Ray said so calmly as he stepped toe to toe with James without breaking eye contact that even Jack couldn't tell how much anger was boiling inside his friend. James pressed his lips firmly together but held his position. "This man remains the most decorated officer the city has ever seen. We're lucky he's agreed to consult with us on this case. Whether he's on the force or not, he's still one of our brothers. We take care of our own. Got it?" James' back stiffened but he remained silent. "I said, got it? Because if you don't, you can hand in your badge now and go home."

James quickly glanced at Massie. He wasn't getting any favors from his TO. A long moment later, he stepped back. "Yes, sir. Tell us what you need. We'll get it done."

A grin crept across Ray's lips. "Right answer. Jack?"

"As I said. This is a plain clothes stakeout. You'll be on foot so you can follow our suspect if necessary." Jack handed the dog to Ray then pulled out his phone and brought up the most recent photo he had of Ginnie. "Give me your numbers so I can send you the suspect's details." When receipt of the suspect information was confirmed by the officers, Jack continued. He explained how Ginnie was portraying herself publicly, and her true identity. "Witnesses have all confirmed someone dressed in black has been casing the homes of our victims. While we've taken some of those garments into evidence, our suspect may have more than one change of clothes. Massie, take your TO over to Mary Duncan's and see if she remembers what our suspect was wearing when she left."

"Yes, sir. She's pretty famous," Massie said. "She should be easy to recognize."

"If and when you see her, get on the horn immediately. Inspectors Callahan and Washington will be in an unmarked vehicle on the street and monitoring the driveway to see if she comes up that way," Jack said.

"Sir," James said to Ray. "Any chance we can be in the stakeout car?"

Before Ray could speak, Jack pulled himself upright, put his hands on his hips and looked down on the officer. His height packed as much of a punch as Ray's steely gaze. "You're a whiner, aren't you?"

James flashed an angry glare at Jack. "No. Sir."

Jack couldn't figure out what this guy's beef was with him, but this wasn’t the time or place for it. "Good. You both can head back to the department now to get changed. Be back here in half an hour to get started. I'm guessing we should be wrapping up here about then." Ray nodded in agreement.

"We can get started now, if you'd like. We have street clothes in the car," Massie said. James frowned; his disapproval evident.

"Good plan. Change out then head down to Lombard. And, Officer Massie?" Ray added. "Get your rookie under control."

"Sir!"

"Dismissed."

Jack and Ray watched the officers walk away. It was obvious by their body language they were arguing.

"Think James'll be trouble?" Jack asked.

"I hope not. Here," Ray handed the dog back to Jack. "Deal with this. I'll let Harry and Wash know they're on stakeout detail down on Greenwich, then we can wrap things up here."

"What? After what you told those dimwits, you're putting me on doggie detail? If you think I'm sitting out Ginnie's arrest to doggie sit, you have another think coming."

"We can't very well leave the dog in the house. What if Ginnie . . . Ellie Mae . . . finds out we're staking out the place? She may never come back. Even for the weapon. We have to consider her in the wind. Which means that dog could die of starvation. Better to take it out now. If there's the slightest chance she's onto us, she may never even notice the dog's missing when she comes back."

Jack shifted his weight onto one foot. "And just where do you want me to take it?" It's late in the day and shelters are closed. I know Franklin won't take it. He's allergic."

"Take it to your place. Drop it in a shelter tomorrow when they open," Ray suggested, shrugging.

"I live above a restaurant. I can't have pets up there." In reality, Jack didn't know if he could or not. He just knew he didn't want the dog in his place.

Frustration deepened the stress lines forming across his friend's face. "Look, I really don't care what you do with it. I've got other things to deal with." Ray called Harry and Wash over. "Why not spend a night in your own house? No rules about dogs over there, I bet."

That cut Jack to the quick. "Seriously, Ray? You're going there?" Ray just rolled his eyes and turned toward the approaching inspectors. Okay, Ray, if that's how you want to play it.

To Harry and Wash, Ray said, "Let's get that outfit back in the closet. If and when she returns, I want things exactly as she left them. Then I want you both down on Greenwich, watching that driveway. It's the only way in and out of this complex." Ray gave them the details of what he wanted, including Massie and James over on Lombard keeping an eye on the alley.

"You got it," Harry said.

"Jack, you're with me. I'll take you back to your place then head over for the warrant on Ginnie's phone." Ray froze for a second, then moved to the sliding door onto the small patio and opened it a couple inches. "In case she wonders what happened to her dog. Maybe she'll think she forgot to close the door and it got out."

Before Jack could say anything, Ray headed toward the door.

Jack held up the little dog in his palm to face him. Its little black eyes were canopied by overhanging hair. He gave the dog a scratch on its head and neck, which seemed to make it happy.

His finger caught on the collar hidden under a layer of hair. A tiny disc dangled from a light pink collar that said Butch. He'd naturally assumed it was a female based on its doggie haute couture. But, holding the dog up for inspection, he said, "Well, Butch, it seems your mistress may be having an identity crisis of her own. You are clearly not the Fifi she's making you out to be."

 

Jack hadn't bothered turning on the light when he got home. It was late, not quite midnight, but blissfully quiet. Even the lack of street noise seemed to give him some respite.

He'd stripped off on the way to the bathroom for a piss, put on a pair of sweatpants, then threw himself onto the battered leather sofa. He cursed when a spring caught him in the ass. He moved over to settle against the cushion then tipped back his head and closed his eyes.

He was body weary and mentally exhausted. It had been one long-ass day. He still tried wrapping his head around Ginnie being the killer all along.

He let his body relax and his mind followed, but rather than sleep, he felt himself being pulled into a half-awake/half-asleep vortex of confused thoughts.

If Ginnie had killed those men, why hire him in the first place, even if all she needed were photos for her divorce?

And what was her motive for killing so many innocent men? In that her victims were all patrons of the Majestic, was she trying to frame Franklin for the murders? If so, why stage them as suicides? Why not just shoot them outright and plant evidence incriminating Franklin?

None of it made sense.

At the tinkling sound, he turned, expecting to see the little purse pooch. Instead, it was the black dog. A silver disc suspended from its collar sounded like a windchime, winking like a suncatcher with a promise of respite. The dog sat gazing at him, as if waiting for its moment to pull Jack along its dark path, its promise of relief unfulfilled.

The dog moved toward him. Beyond it, Leah stood with her arms folded in front of her, a look of longing across her beautiful face. No, not longing. Was it fear, or perhaps sadness? Jack certainly felt her disappointment. His heart ached for her. He reached for her—

Ringing.

Reluctantly, he turned from Leah and saw Ginnie. Beneath her wide-brimmed designer hat was the grinning face of the crack shot teen, and she held a flailing turkey by the legs in one hand.

Ringing.

When he opened his eyes, the room was still dark. Light from the Condor Club across the road formed soft lines between the gaps in the blinds.

Ringing.

His phone screen flashed Ray's image with the incoming call.

Jack rubbed his palm down his face in an effort to clear his mind, then clicked receive to answer the call. "Jack Slaughter, Private Investigations and Security."

"Cut the crap, Jack." Even over the phone, Jack could see his friend's face in his mind and knew he was one pissed off dude.

"What's wrong?" Jack sat up and finger-combed the hair out of his eyes. He needed a haircut but would worry about that once the case was solved.

A quick check of the time showed he'd been sleeping less than thirty minutes.

"What do you want to hear first? That Massie and James fucked up and Ginnie got past them? Or that she also managed to get past Harry and Wash? Or that after one of the longest days of my life, I get home to find a little dog in my bed and sleeping on my pillow?" Yep, Ray was pissed. Jack grinned that he had a little part to play in that.

"Let's hear about Massie and James first."

"They're not offering up any excuses or explanations. Simply that they didn't see Ginnie enter the alley leading up to her place," Ray said.

"Maybe they didn't. She could have made her own path through a neighbor's garden. Is the alley the only entrance onto the property, other than the driveway? Did anyone check or just take it that it was?" Jack asked.

Ray grumbled. "Fuck if I know. It's possible. Or just maybe, we're dealing with a lot of fuckups on this."

Jack kept his voice calm in the hopes Ray would relax a little. "Let's assume there's another way onto the terrace and it wasn't through either of the known entrances. Ginnie's on the property now?"

"No, and we don't know how long she was at her place either."

"Has anyone gone back into the house to see if she's taken anything?"

"Someone is on their way there now."

Jack got up and went into the backroom. "I'm putting you on speaker so I can get dressed." He pressed the speaker icon and set the phone on the table under his murder wall. It needed updating now that he knew Ginnie was at the heart of the case, but he hoped they'd catch her before he did. "Tell me about Harry and Wash." In reality, he couldn't imagine them fucking up anything. By all accounts, they were fine inspectors.

He kicked off his sweats and pulled on the black jeans he'd left on the floor earlier. While Ray talked, he slid into a clean black T-shirt.

"We don't know what Ginnie did while there, but she definitely came back for her Beamer. Harry said a vehicle came down the driveway dark. It turned onto Greenwich before the lights went on and it sped up the road. As the car passed, they realized it was the suspect and gave pursuit."

Jack took the phone back in the front room where he slid his feet into his boots. "Did they catch her? Tell me they got her." He propped one foot on the sofa arm to tie the laces, then the other.

"In an ideal world . . . They followed her across the city, trying to get her to pull over, but she eventually lost them in heavy fog in the Presidio. It looks like she might be heading to Sea Cliff, so I have officers heading that direction. I'm nearly there myself."

Jack went to his desk, unlocked the side drawer, and pulled out his gun case. God, he hated this part of investigations. Nothing about PI work should be dangerous, but lately it seemed he was being pulled into situations that went much further than cheating spouses, missing children, and surveillance.

"I'll meet you over there," Jack said and disconnected the call before Ray could ask him about the dog.

He gazed at the box for a solid minute before punching in the password. The red light flashed green on the first try and he heard the lock open.

The barrel edge of the Beretta glinted in the dim light coming through the blinds. He was almost afraid to touch it.

He cleaned the weapon monthly. That wasn't the problem. There was no intention of using it. Just keeping it in working order. Taking it out now, as a means of defense, was another story. If Ginnie was armed, he needed to be too.

For the last four years, he'd hoped the next time he pulled out the Beretta would be his last. But this wasn't that time. He still hadn't found Leah or the person who killed his daughter and Trax. Knowing where he was taking the weapon tonight didn't make the task any easier. He never went out with the intention of killing anyone—he'd always hated that part of his job, as a cop then homicide inspector and now private investigator—but it was always a possibility, and one he had to be ready for. Kill or be killed.

When did he start becoming afraid to do his job? Was he really getting too old for this shit? Or was it that he was just ready to hang it all up and call it quits for good? Would it matter that he hadn't found Leah, or the person who'd destroyed his family?

He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before pushing the air out of his lungs. Forcing himself to focus, he quickly lifted the Beretta from its custom foam insert. He pulled back the slide and snapped the full 19-round magazine into place. The slide closed with a sharp snap. He checked the safety was on before sliding the weapon into the jean's waistband in the center of his back and headed for the door.

"Fuck this shit and the horse it rode in on," he cursed, grabbing his jacket, then slammed the door behind him.